


Up in the Valley

by rivlee



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fic for Victory 2k15, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long term undercover ops aren't usually a part of Carwood Lipton's average workday, but it's amazing the things he'll do when Lewis Nixon asks. Wherein there are stolen paintings, a Bed and Breakfast, too many apples, and the rekindling of past relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twelve_pastels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelve_pastels/gifts).



> For twelve_pastels who had three amazing prompts (and I do want to write them all), but I went for number three: 
> 
>  
> 
> _Police AU, either period appropriate or present day. Things I like include Winters/Nixon and Speirs/Lipton, with lots of supposed unrequited feelings and so much pining that the fic smells like Christmas. I'm also a big fan of plotty gen, especially if there's deep and trusting friendships, m/m or m/f. Oh, and absurd situations make me giggle._

“Lip, you know I wouldn’t normally ask this of you or take you away from your precinct for any amount of time. This case falls under special circumstances. You’re my best sergeant in the whole damn city and I don’t want to imagine what your bull pen will look like without you, but I need you to do this as a personal favor for me.”

Carwood Lipton would’ve done Lewis Nixon a favor regardless of his position or his praise. The fact that he was here on official business from the Bureau Chief’s office just spoke to the importance of this case. It wasn’t in him to deny the favor or the order, especially when he knew his experience would better serve a long undercover op than one of his kids. In their lack of experience or eagerness to prove themselves on the job, they could very well blow their cover. Lives could be in danger if that happened and the last thing Carwood, Captain Winters, or this precinct needed was another loss like Hoobler’s.

“It’s still not your fault,” Lew said, his eyes trained on Carwood’s face. 

“Hard to remember that some nights,” Carwood admitted. Or any time his eyes drifted to the still empty desk where Hoobler once worked. Another three months and it’d be a year. 

Lew nodded in clear understanding and left his condolences unspoken but clear. He passed a folder across Captain Winters’ desk to Carwood. “You’ll be in a support role that will allow you travel often between here and the base of operations Upstate. Ron Speirs has point on this case and he’s been established in this cover for at least a year. You know him, right? You two were in the Academy together?”

“A lifetime ago,” Carwood said. He took the thick folder from Lew’s hands and looked in confusion at the first page. “Art theft and a Bed and Breakfast?”

“A ring of forgers and dealers mixed-in with the artistic and historical communities in the Mid-Hudson River Valley, possibly up into New England,” Lew said. “They are legitimate professionals who’ll take in a work for restoration or insurance or authentication purposes and then this crew makes a perfect forgery, giving the copy back to the owners and selling the legitimate piece to private sellers. We’ve been making in-roads for years, but recent events require a greater action.”

“Who got ripped off?” Carwood asked, easily reading between the official-language lines. 

Lew smirked before he gave his answer. “Commissioner Sink,” he said.

Carwood let a small laugh escape. “Yeah, boy, that’d do it.” He flipped through the notes. “How does the B&B tie into all this? Speirs never struck me as the type to go into the hospitality industry.”

“The house has been used as a front for federal agents for years. This case is a joint-op between us, the FBI, and the State Police. Speirs’ cover involved taking over the house from his retired aunt, but it’s been almost a year since he started there and some of the more gossipy-neighbor folk are curious why his oft-spoken of husband has yet to appear. There’s only so often Speirs can use the work excuse. You were deemed the best candidate and hopefully this can save the op long enough for us to—at the very least—recover the Commissioner’s Mother Jones’ original. Or whatever the hell kind of painting it is, I kind of tuned it out after the fifth lecture on the importance of preserving art for our future generations.”

The boredom of it all was clear on Nix’s face, so Carwood decided to save any questions about the actual piece for Speirs. 

“I guess I should tell the kids I’m out for the weekend and head home to pack a bag,” he said. 

“Grant, one of Speirs’ junior detectives, is being sent to get you. He’ll catch you up to speed on the drive.” Lew stood and held out his hand. “Thanks for this, Lip. You’ll be saving all our asses.”

“My pleasure, Captain,” he said as he shook his hand.

***********

“So they’re just going to take you away from us like it’s nothing,” Detective George Luz said.

Luz was Carwood’s right-hand and a detective with a hell of an admirable cases-solved record. He helped make all the conflicting personalities in their precinct, from Skip Muck and Smokey Gordon’s class-clown personas to Joe Toye’s Toyeness, work without a hitch. He just wasn’t a big fan of any of them going into long-term undercover ops, especially not after last time. 

“You’ll be fine, Luz,” he said as he started to pack some of his cold cases into a banker’s box. He’d need something to distract him during the downtime of this new case. Besides, it felt like he couldn’t get to sleep these days without at least flipping through one file. He’d finally become one of those lifer-cops who lived, breathed, ate, and slept the job.

“Who are they going to give us?” Luz asked. “They can’t expect me to run this place on my own when you’re constantly up north to make happy families.”

“Captain Winters will still be here,” Carwood promised. “You’re still going to have Skip, Malarkey, Gordon, Liebgott, Keller, Alley, Toye, Guarnere, and Riggi. Penky will help you organize the paperwork. Johnny Martin’s going to take over my desk whenever I’m gone for longer than a weekend. This time is just a trail run to make sure you don’t make him _actually_ kill one of you jackasses.”

Luz let out a breath. “Martin—that’s a relief.”

“And you know if you have any problems that you don’t want to bother Winters with, just call Compton or Foley.” Carwood thought for a moment and added, “Do not, under any circumstances, call Peacock.”

“Never would,” Luz promised. He leaned against Carwood’s desk and looked out at their bullpen “But what am I supposed to do if Smokey or Alley get shot again? What if our precinct gets stormed? What if there’s a freak tornado going through downtown?”

“If Smokey or Alley get shot _again_ you’ll go to the hospital and make sure Doc Roe or Doc LeMarie takes over their cases. If there’s a freak tornado ask Winters. If the precinct gets taken over by the Mole People then call SWAT and ask to borrow Shifty.” 

Luz frowned. “Okay, but I don’t have to like this.”

“No, you don’t,” Carwood agreed. He put down his box and gripped Luz’s shoulder. “It’s not like I’m going to Antarctica, Luz.”

“You’re going Upstate, that’s close enough,” Luz said with a grimace. “They’re going to have your out there in some mini-van and grandpa sweaters.” He grinned. “I’ll have to get pictures.”

“Stay away from the op unless Nixon tells you otherwise,” Carwood warned. He knew how much trouble his kids could get into, especially if they were left to their own devices. “This is Ron Speir’s long-term op. I doubt he’ll want any more interference.”

“Jesus,” Luz said as he ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I don’t want to get my ass shot off.”

“That’s just a rumor,” Carwood said.

“Whatever you say, Lip,” Luz said. He eased off Carwood’s desk. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Carwood admitted. “Take care of everyone for me?”

“Of course.”

“And yourself?”

“I’ll do my best,” Luz promised. He pulled out a tote bag from under his desk. “I got you some snacks for the road. The Hershey bars might be half-eaten, I had to wrestle them away from Lieb, but it’s your standard care package road trip stuff.”

Carwood pulled Luz closed for a hug, borne out of gratitude, friendship, trust, and love. He knew he could leave here for however long this op took and not worry every minute about his men and women back home. Luz had it handled. 

“I’ll call when I get in,” he said.

“Yeah, you better,” Luz said.

**********

Carwood didn’t know what it was about packing that always made him think about the past rather than the future, but he supposed it was impossible not to considering who and what he was traveling to tonight.

Fifteen years ago he had left home with his best friend Popeye to see if they could get work anywhere far away from West Virginia. They’d ended up in New York through a friend of a friend and after two years of working in various bars and stores, Popeye landed an enviable position with the Metro North railroad and Carwood started as a police recruit. Popeye lived up near Wappingers Falls now; Carwood needed to pay him a visit if the time and case allowed it. 

The case really made it impossible for him to ignore his past. Carwood grew-up running the family B&B outside Huntington. No matter how far he tried to move on from those roots, they would always pull him back down. He looked through his closet for work clothes more suited to the manual labor required to run such a place. T-shirts, blue jeans, carpenter’s pants, and his plaid shirts, or his _hidden lumberjack fetish_ as Luz called it, would work best. He’d still pack some of his standard dress shirts and trousers just in case this whole art angle required gallery attendance of some sort. He dug through his chest of drawers until he found the faded grey PT shirt from his academy days. 

Sergeant Supervisory Detective Ronald Speirs had taken a completely different career track from Carwood Lipton. They had been in the same cadet class once, years ago with at least a hundred others trying to break into their city’s police force ranks. Speirs had followed the path into special assignments, while Carwood had sought the strictly supervisory position that would allow him to one day make Captain. He never thought they’d work the same case after they both passed Detective Third Grade. By that time Speirs was already firmly stuck in his special assignments and Carwood in his own more general work; if murders, robberies and their like could ever be considered _general_. Yet here they were, paths crossed again. 

They’d both been very different men then, boys really, and while once Carwood thought they’d have a future together, their paths had diverged in more than one way. He never thought he’d really see Ron again outside of seeing each other across the room at some official functions, trading the awkward smile of two men who were _almost_ more once upon a time. It seemed Fate, or rather Lewis Nixon, had a different plan. Carwood wondered what type of man Ron—quiet and always observing and horrible sense of humor Ron—had turned out to be.

Carwood put down the shirt and went out to his living room. There was something he needed to bring on this trip. He found the box in its place of pride on the shelf next to the window. Slim, wooden, and decorated with meticulously painted elm-leaves around the border, it had been a gift from Ron when they graduated the academy. Carwood kept all the small tangible pieces of memories from those day inside; pictures, movie ticket stubs, a napkin depicting Ron’s favorite Shakespeare-death in stick figures and now faded ink, a matchbook from the bar the first time it felt like a date and not just a drink with a friend, and the concert ticket from their last sort-of date when they went to see Kenny Chesney before their career paths went in two completely different places. 

There was a knock on the door and Carwood checked the time on his watch. He was supposed to have at least another hour until Chuck Grant showed up. Carwood had already secured his gun. He carefully approached the door and checked the peephole. Captain Richard Winters and his headful of red hair stood on the other side. He released a shaky breath and unlocked his three deadbolts before he let his captain inside.

“Sorry to drop in on you without notice, Lip,” Winters said after Carwood closed the door. “I wanted to check-up on you without so many curious eyes and ears.”

Their precinct was a highly functioning well-oiled machine, but it was also completely full of gossips.

“I appreciate it, Captain,” he said. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked even though he knew what the answer would be.

“Water, please,” Winters said. He took his normal place on the couch and waited patiently while Carwood wondered into the kitchen. 

“Thanks,” Winters said as he gladly accepted the cold glass. He took a long sip as he waited for Carwood to sit down. 

“Lew knew about my past with Speirs,” Carwood said.

Winters carefully placed his glass down in the very center of a coaster and nodded. “He’s not trying to meddle. He just figured that with your familiarity it’d be easier to send you in as the mysterious spouse rather than someone like Compton.”

Carwood almost laughed out loud at the thought of Ron Speirs ever marrying someone like Buck Compton. “That wouldn’t have worked,” he agreed. “It’s fine,” he assured Winters. “There’s nothing to meddle with anyway. That’s all ancient history.”

“You so sure about that?” Winters asked. He had that smug smile that usually meant he had the better intel. “You were Ron Speirs’ only suggestion when Lew asked. No one else, Lip, just you.”

“I’m the best option,” he said. “Ron always makes sure he has the best around him to achieve his goals.”

“Of course,” Winters said, his respectful disagreement clear in his face. He pulled two things out of his jacket. One was a cell phone, the other was a small wooden box with the same elm-leaf pattern as the one Carwood had just been looking at. “The phone has all our contacts in there and the ones Ron has picked up on this job. The box has your new wedding ring. Congratulations, I suppose.”

Carwood Lipton would _never_ tell his captain to go fuck himself, but he was severely tempted in that moment. 

He pocketed the cell phone and carefully opened the box. Inside was a thick gold band with the repeated elm-leaf motif around the center. Carwood slipped it on; it fit perfectly. He honestly wasn’t surprised that Ron Speirs clearly knew his ring size. 

“Why the leaves I wonder,” Winters said.

“Speirs love his classical mythology and symbolism,” Carwood said. 

He remembered many nights when Ron, just buzzed enough from cheap beer and the sticky feel of the city in summer, rambling on about the symbolism of elm trees in Greek and Roman mythology and how they differed. He was so much more than people ever assumed about him; it was one of those things they’d bonded over, all the incorrect assumptions about the both of them. 

“How about that,” Winters said as he took another sip of water and gave Carwood a look that spoke volumes.


	2. Two

Ronald Colin Speirs was never supposed to be a cop. He was supposed to join the military and stay there until he had at least one star on his shoulders, and if not that he was supposed to become a doctor, lawyer, or something very wealthy and successful like his father and grandfather. Ron Speirs decided to fuck the world’s expectations of him at a very young age and when his father threatened to disinherit him if he didn’t at least choose law school instead of the police academy, well, Ron Speirs always knew how to survive. 

Over a decade after he first entered the police academy he was heading his own long-term joint-taskforce-undercover-op trying to bust up a network of art thieves and forgers. It was through the combined effort of the NYPD, the New York State Police, and the FBI that brought him here to this small Bed & Breakfast in Upstate New York, one of the FBI’s oldest safe houses and business fronts. 

In the city Ron had worked the social life angle to get near the crime ring. It hadn’t been difficult to don the mask of the privileged society son he truly way, it was just one of the many masks he’d long ago learned to wear. There was a fear about long-term undercover ops and people losing their selves to the character they were playing; it was never a problem with Ron. He was very good at imitating all kinds of other lives, but he always remembered who he remained in his very core. 

The rich-boy cover wouldn’t work among the locals here though—not among people who grew-up resenting the wealth IBM brought into their small towns full of farms and teachers and railroad and postal worker unions, and then took away once the company pulled from this area in the early 1990s. 

Currently Ron was working his way in through the craft-production and local goods angle, thankful once again for this carpentry classes he’d negotiated from his father in exchange for taking tennis lessons without complaint. After nearly a year he’d made more in-roads with his neighbors than anyone else, but the four junior agents the FBI shipped up here to work with him were making their own progress and Ron was playing the long game anyway. He’d already started the foundations of this op over three years ago in the city; he was a patient man when it suited him, and he knew this job would require him to wait it out until someone screwed up.

Well, beyond the massive screw-up of charging the NYPD’s Police Commissioner for some restoration work on one of his Thomas Cole landscapes and sending back a forged copy. It was the first major screw-up of this ring not doing the best research of their clients though—or showing some massive arrogance—which meant progress might come in the near future. 

Patience was all it required. That and not having his cover completely blown by overly-inquisitive neighbors who wondered if his hardworking husband would ever be able to come up for a visit.

There was only ever one person Ron had considered for that part of the op.

Carwood Lipton was one of those unexpected curveballs in life. Ron didn’t go into the academy looking to find someone he could picture his future with, much less a friend. Carwood never met a stranger though, and even though that kind smile and attentive face was one of _Carwood’s_ best masks, Ron had fallen in love with the genuine sincerity that oozed out of Carwood Lipton’s pores.

They hadn’t been ready for a future together back then. They both only knew what they didn’t want; Ron didn’t want to be his father and Carwood didn’t want to be his either. Their paths diverged when Carwood went for a life-long police career and Ron went after what would let him take the least amount of orders from other assholes. They still kept in touch in that awkward way that developed through Facebook, but it was never like it had been that last summer together before they left the academy. Ron knew who he could work best with though, and since Chuck was already up here playing his own role, it had to be Carwood. 

Ron finished his detailing on the current jewelry box he was working on for the gift shop and stood and stretched. He needed to grab a shower before Chuck and Carwood got here, he needed to brief his team, and he needed to start dinner since it was his turn.

**********

“Don’t think your eggplant parm can distract me from the fact that your rooms are probably going to be overbooked in September if you don’t hire someone to actually pay attention to this shit,” Kitty Grogan said before she dug into her food. “Your ass got saved by Harry’s good graces last year, but he has a harvest festival to organize at the school now.”

Kitty was the State Police side of their little joint venture, and the only one their budget could spare. She had the strongest community ties out of all of them since her husband Harry taught first grade to most of the town’s kids. She was a known law enforcement officer, but had also made herself known for being friendly to all newcomers. The locals felt more secure in using a business if it had a Kitty Grogan Stamp of Approval. Even though Ron was here to bring down a forger’s ring, he was also determined to make a profit with this place if it was going to be his life for at least a couple more years. Kitty was an asset for him on so many levels. 

And it helped that Kitty was determined this business represented her town well to the Feds and their oversight committee. 

“I’m working on it,” Ron promised as he reached for a breadstick. “You know how difficult it can be to vet someone between all three agencies. Look how long it took for Lipton’s approval and his record is spotless and full of commendations.”

“I still think you should try and hire a local,” Kitty said. “Or one of the kids from Marist or Vassar or something.”

“They’d have to be far from observant and I don’t think you want that for someone handling our office work”

“Or they just need to be terrified of you,” Kitty said. 

“She’s got a point,” Babe Heffron, one of the FBI kids, said. “I mean even if they notice something, who in their right mind is going to say shit to you? Even if they do you’ll just have to look at them and they’ll shut right up.” He pointed at Ron’s face. “There! That look right there.”

“Jesus,” Skinny Sisk, the second of the four FBI kids, muttered into his plate. 

Tony Garcia and Joe Ramirez, the other two federal toddlers, kept their mouths shut. Ron knew there was a reason he liked those boys.

“I’ll ask Harry to check in with that softball team he coaches,” Kitty said. “Even if it’s only part-time, it’ll make a difference. Between the bookings and the store you need all the help you can get.”

“I really don’t think it’s going to be that bad,” Ron said.

“Look, city boy, you have _no_ idea what the places turns into the minute those trees start changing colors and everyone, including the President of the United States, stops by to gaze at them. Then there’s making a weekend of it with apple and pumpkin-picking during harvest time while everyone and their grandmother decides they just _have_ to see FDR’s house and Vanderbilt’s mansion and Eleanor’s cottage. Now we have that walkway across the old train bridge too. Trust me, you are going to _need_ the help. You got to avoid last year to chase that lead, but this time your ass is staying here unless those forgers put on a massive yard sale.”

Any further argument was delayed as they heard the crunch of gravel under tires through the open window. 

“Chuck?” Babe asked. He checked his watch. “He must’ve been speeding.”

“Or Nixon sent them up here with a police escort,” Ron said. He wouldn’t put it past the man. “It’s not like Lip is posing as anything else other than a private investigator on sabbatical.”

“An escort’s a little much,” Kitty said. 

“Nixon is a little much,” Ron said. “You guys keep eating, I’ll go greet them.”

Ron allowed himself a single hands-shaking moment of uncertainty the second he was away from everyone’s eyes. He shook it off and opened the back door near where the employees parked. 

“Hiya, Boss!” Chuck called out. “We arrived all safe and sound and in one piece.”

“All alright?” he asked, sounding off one of their oldest codes.

“All alright,” Chuck answered. He slipped out of the car and grinned. “Lip here has told me some stories.”

Ron let himself take a good look at Carwood Lipton for the first time in years. He had a little less hair, a lot more bulk, and that same small, quiet smile that had always warmed something inside Ron.

“Hey, Lip,” he said and held his hand out. 

“Ron,” Lip said as he took his hand and leaned in close for hug. “Eyes on us?” he asked, voice low.

“Not back here,” Ron said. “We sweep for surveillance at least twice a day.”

“Smart,” Lip said as he slipped back. “Nix didn’t say how long it’d be.”

“We figured we’d start you off with a long weekend and go from there,” Ron said. He held open the door. “Come inside and meet the team. There’s plenty of food to go around so grab yourself a bite.”

“Is that eggplant parm, I smell?” Chuck asked as he pushed past them, Lip’s bags draped across his shoulders. “Jesus, that smells good. Sorry, Lip, I’m dumping your stuff by the door.”

“Thanks for bringing it in,” Lip said as he watched Chuck make a beeline for the dining room.

The beams of the porch light caught in Lip’s eyes as he looked up and took in the house. “Nice place you got here. I was expecting something quainter, but this is pretty damn big. How?”

“Long story,” Ron said. He gripped Lip’s shoulder, unable to help himself, and gestured with his other hand for him to get inside. “Get a bite to eat, get some sleep, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

**********

It was too late to be up when he had to start working around the B&B at five in the morning, but Ron wasn’t surprised when he heard the light tap on his bedroom door. Carwood never could take a break even when everyone in the world tried to give it to him.

“Figured you wouldn’t wait until morning,” Ron said as he opened the door. “Come on in.”

Carwood nodded his thanks and settled down on the armchair near the window. He had a stack of files in his hands and Ron could see ink stains on his fingers. 

“How many notes have you already made?” he asked.

Carwood shrugged. “I don’t know much about art, so I figured I’d do what I could looking at your suspected ring from an outsider’s perspective, see where the suspects possibly overlapped with meeting places and clients. They have to have some sort of headquarters where they wouldn’t look out of place. Normally I’d say a bar, though with this crew maybe a café or a coffeehouse or, hell, even a library.”

“Or a combination of all three. They cross age, ethnicity, and employment lines, so it needs to be somewhere they wouldn’t stand out. Usually that’d be a bit more obvious in small towns, except there is a high tourist presence and student population in this area.”

“And an actual drive-in,” Carwood said. “I didn’t think those still existed.”

“It’s an experience,” Ron admitted. “We’ll take you some time.”

“I suppose there should be some sort of official date night,” Carwood said.

It was the first he’d mentioned of their roles here. Ron didn’t think it was proper to bring it up around the dinner table with the others, not with their past, but he hadn’t failed to notice Carwood was wearing his ring. Even if that made Ron smile, he knew he owed Carwood an explanation. 

“I didn’t realize how far and deep this job would take me when I started the cover,” Ron said. “I certainly didn’t think it’d involve a joint taskforce and op between the Feds, the State Police, and us. I needed a workable cover and decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. When I took this place over it seemed easier to just say I had a husband with a demanding job in the city. It discouraged anyone from trying to set me up, but people here being who they are, they asked for pictures and the like. I’d figured they would, and well, we have photographic evidence of our past.”

Carwood nodded. “It makes the most logical sense. I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

“Still, I apologize. If there was any other way to keep their suspicions down, we would’ve taken that course of action. I’m sorry to pull you away from your precinct and bring you back to running a B&B.”

Carwood laughed. “Well, I suppose I couldn’t keep escaping my past. It was bound to catch up with me sooner or later. You don’t have any guests right now?”

“We have two couples staying with us currently for a week. They’re both out doing a night tour on the Hudson. You might see them at breakfast. Heffron makes it each morning. His cover is as a student at the Culinary Institute of America. He’s not half-bad.”

“And the others?”

“Chuck and Perco help with the maintenance of the place, which makes it easy to do the bug sweeps. Garcia is taking classes at New Paltz. Ramirez helps run the gift shop. We hire a service to come in twice a week to do major cleanings, but we all pitch in. I have a carpentry shed out back where I make stuff for the shop and the locals. Right now our office is a disaster.”

“So, first order of business tomorrow,” Carwood said as he made a note.

“Kitty’s going to see if she can get someone part-time.”

“You’ll need it with harvest season coming up,” Carwood said. He shook his head. “You really don’t know shit about running this place from a business standpoint.”

“I am willing to learn though,” Ron said. He sat down on the window-seat next to Carwood’s chair. “I know this is a lot to ask of you. I really appreciate it, Lip. We all do.”

Carwood patted Ron’s shoulder. “I’m glad to help, you know that. You could’ve called sooner. I’ll think up the rest of my cover story tonight and fill you in tomorrow.”

“We told everyone you’re a private investigator working on a big case, so you don’t have to lie too much,” Ron said. 

“As long as you didn’t tell anyone I tried to steal the Declaration of Independence or was out to find where they buried Jimmy Hoffa, we’re good.” He stood and stretched. “Past time we both got some sleep, I suppose. Early wake-ups, right? Four, five in the morning?”

“Five,” Ron said.

“Lightweight,” Carwood teased. “I’ll see you at 4:30.”

Carwood paused at the doorway and shifted the stack of papers in his hands. He looked at the ring on his finger and smiled. 

“It’s still a beautiful design,” he said.

Ron was thankful for the dark in case something slipped on his face. “It’s a little sentimental, I know, but I still wanted some meaning.”

“I like it,” Carwood said. “I still have the box you made for me—it’s fitting.”

There was that damn Carwood Lipton-branded warmth in the pit of his stomach again.


	3. Three

Carwood always woke up before the sun. It was a habit from childhood, a requirement in helping to run the family business before he had to leave for school, and one that had served him well throughout his life. Sleeping in past six in the morning felt like a luxury and he only reserved that for when he was so sick Winters and Luz threatened him with a hospital stay. 

His first morning at the B&B wasn’t as solitary as he thought it would be. Ron wasn’t downstairs yet, but Chuck Grant was there looking like he hadn’t slept yet and one of the FBI kids was grumbling about fake homework and demanding coffee.

“It’s your own damn fault for not starting the paper before last night,” Grant said. “You’ve only got yourself to blame, Garcia.”

“Just give me some coffee, Grant,” Garcia said. 

“Good morning, boys,” Carwood said as he entered the kitchen. “Or night, apparently.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Grant said. “Room to your liking, Lip? Perco damn near cleaned the bathroom grout with a toothbrush.”

Carwood had noticed that the bathroom actually sparkled, but he’d figured that was the cleaning crew they’d hired. “It’s a beautiful room and house. Was it fully functional when you got here?”

“Yeah,” Garcia said. “The FBI’s been running this place for years. Usually a retired agent is installed as the owner until a younger agent can come to take over. There’s always something going on in New York and this is a good place to hide out.”

“I certainly wouldn’t expect to find a group of law enforcement officers running such a place. How did they explain the switchover from the previous owner to Ron?”

“Speirs is the good nephew who is taking over for his elderly aunt. Granted he had to leave his hardworking private investigator husband back in the city, but they’re making it work,” Grant said.

Carwood rolled his eyes at Grant’s overly-sentimental tone. It was a plausible cover though, and one they’d backed up well.

Carwood poured himself a cup of coffee and wandered out to the back porch. The sky was still dark and the ground covered in dew. Even though it was May the air remained cold enough for his breath to show. He sat down on the steps and allowed himself a moment to just be still. 

He turned his head when he heard the screen door squeak. Ron slipped outside, decked out in a Captain America sweatshirt and black running shorts. 

“Not such a lightweight then,” Carwood joked.

Ron just gave him a very sarcastic salute as he jogged off the back steps and out onto the driveway.

“You coming?” he asked when he reached the road.

Carwood looked down at his old PT shirt and raggedy sweatpants. He did have his running shoes on and had planned on doing a small lap. He took another sip of his coffee and slid his mug off to the side.

“Why the hell not,” he called to Ron.

They jogged for at least three miles before Ron directed them to a steps of a small blue house.

“Seriously?” Carwood asked as Ron knocked on the door. “It’s not even six in the morning.”

“Kitty’s up,” Ron said. 

The door opened to reveal the woman from last night, decked out in her own running gear and holding two water bottles. She looked surprised for only a moment when she saw Carwood then disappeared back inside. She emerged with a third bottle and a big smile.

“Ready?” Ron asked.

“Always,” Kitty said as she pulled her dirty-blonde hair up into a ponytail.

A man with an impressive head of curly hair appeared at the door, blinking and wrapped up in a faded green robe.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron greeted.

Harry greeted him with a crooked smile. “Forgetting something?” he asked Kitty.

Kitty rolled her eyes, but leaned over and kissed him. “Have a good day at work, dear,” she said.

**********

Heffron moved around the kitchen with clear ease. He kept up a constant commentary as he made three different types of eggs, two huge trays full of bacon, and even some gluten free pancakes. He was currently working on a low-calorie version of French toast involving something with granny smith apples and cinnamon. It was a world different from the kitchen Carwood had stumbled into this morning.

“I always wanted to join the CIA,” Heffron joked. “I just never thought the FBI would be footing the bill.”

“I’m sure that money could be going to much worse things than teaching you how to cook with class and style,” Carwood said.

“That’s all I’m saying.” Babe passed him a bowl of fruit and a dish with some sort of dip. “Try it. Homemade. You’ll love it”

It was pretty damn good. 

The rest of the day proceeded in that sort of controlled chaos that only came from a well-practiced routine. By noon all the FBI kids had cleared out for their various classes and jobs, which left Ron, Carwood, and Grant in the house. 

“Tour?” Chuck asked. He had a mug of apple cider in his hand. 

“I’ll handle it,” Ron said as he came in through the back door. He was covered in sweat and sawdust and Carwood did his level best not to stare. “Just let me grab a shower first.” He flashed Carwood a small smile as he slid past.

“Sure,” Carwood called after him. He turned back to the kitchen and met Chuck Grant’s knowing eyes.

“So obviously there’s some unresolved feelings there,” Grant said.

“Just—drink your cider,” Carwood said. 

“Never said I was just talking about you,” Grant teased before sliding off into the gift shop. 

Carwood still wasn’t sure _why_ a B &B needed a gift shop. Apparently their homemade preserves were big with the locals and it was just easier to open a small store rather than try to keep stuff near the reception desk. At least that’s what Heffron told him in between making a plate of eggs benedict and some toast. 

Carwood turned his head to the back staircase as he heard one of the doors open. The air smelled like something warm and spicy as a freshly-showered Ron padded down the stairs. He barely made a sound and Carwood was pleased to see that some of his odd quirks still remained. 

He hadn’t let himself think too much about Ron and their past since his arrival last night. It was odd, to be in that place of not-quite-strangers and yet having to re-learn each other. He knew he wasn’t just here for convenience’s sake because Ron had old pictures of the both them still to use for evidence if anyone poked around, but because there had always been an ease to them. Even before they’d become something more than friends and not quite lovers, they had worked well together, anticipating each other’s movements in a way that had left their instructors at the academy thoroughly impressed. 

Ron, like him, had bulked up over the years. He’d grown his hair out and not for the first time since coming here did Carwood force himself to not reach out and brush it away from his eyes. He seemed to favor a stubble now, rather than the clean-shaven look required by protocol back then, and Carwood wondered now if it was for personal preference or part of the cover. 

He spared a moment to laugh at himself as he hard Luz’s accusation of his lumberjack fetish in his mind once again. Ron Speirs, as he stood now smelling of rich earth, in worn jeans and a faded grey t-shirt, certainly looked the part. 

“You’ve got some idea of the kitchen and the layout of the rooms upstairs,” Ron said. “The only main parts left to see here in the house are the large dining room for guests, the common room, the check-in lounge, our office, and the laundry facilities. The amazing part of this place is really what’s outside.” Ron seemed to stop himself. “Of course, you probably already know that people go to B&Bs for the surrounding scenery.”

“It’s usually pretty common,” Carwood agreed. “This isn’t my family’s place though, and everywhere is a little different.”

The whole house had a comfortable, if muted, taste vaguely more 1940s than authentic Victorian considering the house’s architecture. It wasn’t ostentatious and it certainly felt more lived-in than anything Carwood expected from an FBI-backed business. 

“The décor was deliberately picked to reflect the 1940s,” Ron said. “It’s a nod to the Roosevelt house and we get some of the crowds who want to stay in town because it’s either us, one of the seven other B&Bs or the motels. We also get the tourists just passing through the area on the way to the Catskills.” 

He held a heavy swinging door open and led Carwood into a large open room. There was a flat screen TV mounted to the wall, two computer stations, a printer, and plenty of comfy chairs. The large bay windows looked out into over an acre of grass and trees. 

“There’s a meadow back there that leads deeper into the forest,” Ron said. “Heffron’s determined to get a larger vegetable patch somewhere on the plot since our victory garden isn’t enough for him.”

“That far out into the woods, you’re going to see a lot of rabbits and deer helping themselves to anything he grows,” Carwood said.

“Yeah, the city boy doesn’t quite grasp that idea,” Ron said.

Carwood laughed. “Because a country boy from Boston like you just knows these things.”

“I’ve had good teachers,” Ron said with his genuine smile.

Carwood tried to tell himself he wasn’t really as charmed as he felt. 

The next room was the check-in area. It was pretty standard, with another computer station, a small register and credit card machine dock, and a whole table full of brochures for local attractions and eateries. They’d turned an old card catalogue desk into a storage area for room keys and mail. There was a comfortable bench and a floor mat and even a candy dish. 

The laundry room came next, down a flight of wooden stairs that led into another open room on one side, the hidden boiler room, and then finally the laundry room on the other. The overwhelming smell of Bounty dryer sheets made Carwood stop on the threshold.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ron said. “We bought a huge thing in bulk. We have the unscented undyed stuff for customers with sensitives too.”

They passed back through to the other open room. There were video game systems, cell phone chargers, and notebooks scattered all around. There were also two mini-fridges, one in the shape of a TARDIS and the other a red Coca-Cola one with a polar bear. 

“Staff lounge?” Carwood asked.

“That obvious?” Ron asked. 

They passed a storage alcove under the stairs and then finally entered through a set of doors that led into an organized person’s nightmare.

“So, this is the office,” Ron said.

Carwood stared at the wall of banker boxes packed up to the ceiling. The desk was at least clean, bills neatly slotted and the safe wasn’t buried under paperwork. It was obviously being mostly used as a storage room and Carwood had a feeling that if in accountant walked in here to find all those receipts gathered around a—what the hell was that?—gumball machine, there would be some very angry yelling.

He wasn’t even going to touch the mountain of lost and found that spilled out of its sad, dented plastic tub.

“It’s good you left this until last,” Carwood said. “If this was the first thing I saw, well, I’d be calling up Nix to have a conversation.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Ron said.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Carwood admitted. “I’d be thinking about it though.”

“And I couldn’t blame you for it,” Ron said. “Me and Chuck are really the only ones you’ll find in here and we’re the only ones with the safe’s code. We have another weapons safe upstairs hidden behind one of the paintings.”

“And neither one of those are the real ones,” Carwood guessed. He noticed Ron’s quick wink and laughed. “House as old as this, got to have some hidden compartments somewhere.”

“Maybe,” Ron said, giving nothing else up.

**********

By afternoon Carwood’s body was tired in that good way that come from a ton of fresh air and sunshine. He was sprawled out on the back porch with Ron, Chuck, and the no-longer-mysterious Perco, sharing a pizza as they talked over the case.

“So what do you know about art?” Ron asked him.

“It’s subjective.”

“Good answer.” Ron clicked his beer bottle with Carwood’s own. “Usually insurance investigators or the FBI handles this sort of white collar crime on their own, but I’ve already been chasing this ring for a while from work back in the city. It’s an inside job, of course. I suspected as much when I started three years ago.”

“Three?” Carwood asked. “You’ve been on this job for three years?”

Ron shrugged as if it was nothing. “Not like I have much family to miss during the holidays; mom’s usually touring Europe. The cover needed to be convincing. There have been longer jobs.”

Carwood shook his head. “So this whole time you been building up a legitimate background. What was your cover while in the city?”

“Originally I had a job at a smaller museum in the city, but with lack of funding for the arts and all that bullshit I was quickly downsized, being the newest hire and all. The one good thing about being Upstate is all the historical homes which require all sorts of restoration. It was easier to find the parts of the whole collective that had spread up here to the valley. I just needed a legitimate job-related reason for my own move.”

“That’s where the FBI came in,” Perco said. 

“Yeah, about that,” Carwood said. “None of those kids look like agents. I suppose that works to your advantage, but are any of them truly field tested?”

“Ramirez and Skinny are,” Ron said. “This is Garcia’s first big job. The kid just got out of the academy and we’ve sent him back to school. Heffron’s actually a confidential informant that they recruited to our side. Kid can talk the ear off anyone he meets and has some of the best sleight of hand I’ve seen in years.”

“He’s successfully picked Ron’s pockets multiple times,” Perco said.

Carwood turned to Ron in surprise who merely nodded in confirmation.

“We’re playing the really long game here,” Chuck said. “So we start you off here a weekend or two or month. Maybe you’ll come up for a full month during harvest time. You’ll get your way in with the neighbors. They like us, but we’re not as relatable as you are, Lip. People _want_ to talk to you, and with the stories we’ve spread about you and Ron, I know you’ve already got a bit of fan club.”

“No pressure there,” Carwood said as he exchanged a look with Ron.

“I only told them the good things. Though they do think we’re high school sweethearts who ran away to the big city to make something of ourselves.”

“Does Popeye know you stole part of his story?” Carwood asked.

“I asked him if it’s okay. He said it was fine,” Ron said. He shook his head at Carwood. “We’ve crossed paths a few times when I’ve taken the train down to the city.”

“At least he didn’t throw you off onto the tracks,” Carwood said. It was a threat Popeye had made after the end of Carwood and Ron’s not-quite-a-relationship. 

“Not yet at least,” Ron said. “And before you ask how I came to be in West Virginia, my father sent me there to live with his uncle after I was expelled from prep school for dropping cherry bombs in fifteen different toilets.”

Carwood almost choked on his pizza. “Does _Nix_ know you stole part of his story?”

“He was pretty damned pleased when I told him,” Ron said.

**********

Perco drove him back to the city. He didn’t play the tourist guide like Chuck had with his long-running commentary full of actual useful information. Perco mostly talked about the arbitrary randomness of undercover assignments and how he ended up this one.

“I swear it’s because Speirs overhead me tell my buddy Christenson that he wasn’t human. I worked a case with him years ago and the guy was a _completely_ different person. Not one trace of who he was outside of the op. He even had a different accent and it never slipped. Not once. Who does that? So yeah, I figure Speirs heard me and he’s had it out for me ever since. Jokes on him though. Cleaning relaxes me.”

“So, that explains my bathroom floor.”

“Ain’t it a beauty?” Perco asked. 

That conversation was still in Carwood’s mind when he walked into the precinct the next morning. The thing was, Carwood knew Ron had built a reputation on his ability to so easily become someone else. Whatever was going on Upstate, there was a whole lot of the real, genuine Ron mixed into that cover. From the carpentry to Carwood to the use of his actual art history degree, so much of actual Ronald Speirs was in the story. He wondered if Ron would be so easily able to break from this one.

Carwood wondered if _he_ would be able to so easily break this cover. So much of it took parts of his own actual history too. 

There was a round of applause as he walked through the bull pen, Lieb and Alley started humming the Wedding March, and there was a tower of donuts topped with two little grooms. Carwood just shook his head and took all their shit. At least they’d shown an ability to perform together and initiative to complete a task in a set-standard of time. He was going to work this into employee evaluations somehow.

It was only after far too many toasts made with morning coffee and an actual call-out for a robbery that Carwood was able to get to his office. Martin was still there finishing his last stack of paperwork.

“See you survived the weekend,” Carwood said.

“Same could be said of you,” Martin said. He shook his head as he continued to sign form after form. “You’ve got a great team here. I’ll be willing to fill in anytime you need it. From what Winters implied this isn’t going to be a one-time deal.”

“It could go on for months, if not years,” Carwood agreed. “I don’t know how deep my role will go in it, but Speirs seems pretty aware that it is a very long-term job.”

“Deep covers can do that,” Martin said. He glanced up at Carwood and frowned. “Lip, you didn’t get married for real, did you?”

“Huh?” he asked.

Martin tapped his own left ring finger.

“Oh,” Carwood said as he looked down at the engraved band on his own hand. “I forgot it was there. Should probably leave it on anyway so it doesn’t look so new on me.”

“Lack of indentation can be telling, but you could always argue you have to take it off for work.” Martin said. “I think this way is better though. Nosy neighbors and small town gossip and all that.”

“Yeah,” Carwood agreed. He didn’t want to have to explain to himself or to Martin that it almost felt wrong to take it off now.


	4. Four

“So I’m going to come up from the city on Wednesday and stay for the month. Martin’s more than willing to take my desk over again, even though Luz is threatening to revolt. Can you send someone to pick me up from the station in Poughkeepsie?”

“I’ll get you myself as long as you can stand a small detour. Apparently our décor isn’t _harvesty_ enough so I have to make a stop to pick up scarecrows and straw bundles or some shit. Just make sure you pack some clothes you won’t mind getting muddy. We have that huge orchard trip this weekend.”

“Heffron and all his apple creations,” Carwood said, voice full of affection. “He’s been texting me updates on all his plans.”

Ron put down his piece of sandpaper and wiped off his hands on a rag. He was almost done with this rocking chair, his project since Carwood’s last visit, and wanted it done before he arrived. 

They’d been slowly working their case and figuring out Carwood’s greater role here since last May. They even had two part time kids to work the office now, Brian O’Keefe, who was absolutely terrified of him, and Faye Tanner, who figured them all out within the first week, but decided it was better to work with them. Ron figured the paid holidays and the dental plan had something to do with it. 

He’d also spent the past few months getting to know Carwood again, the man he was now meeting with the one that lived in Ron’s memories. He was still one of the best people Ron had ever met, so willing to give of himself and never even realizing how much he meant to everyone around him. Carwood Lipton was the definition of a humble, simple man. He didn’t want much out of life other than knowing those he cared about were happy and safe and he’d done his part to see them there. Sure, Ron wished Carwood could be just a little more selfish, more willing to take time for himself, but they both were who they were and they’d always connected because of those similarities and differences. 

Ron didn’t need Chuck, Kitty, and Skinny’s pointed looks to figure out what he already knew. He’d always been a little in love with Carwood Lipton. He just hoped that somehow Carwood Lipton could be a little in love with him again.

“It’ll be good to have you back,” Ron said. “I’ll make sure your room is ready. Perco might even get his toothbrush ready again.”

“He is awfully proud of how clean he gets those floors.”

“It’s how he works out his anger.”

Carwood’s soft laugh filled Ron’s ear. “Not everyone can go out back and take a chainsaw to a tree.”

“Only on the dead trees that might fall on to the house,” Ron said. He could feel the grin on his face and he wasn’t even attempting to hide it. “And I wasn’t angry. It just happened to occur the same time I found out Fox canceled that show.”

“It’s always canceling something,” Carwood said. “Hold on a sec.”

Ron strained to hear through whatever Carwood was using to muffle the sound. He could make out a voice, possibly female, and sounding utterly resigned to some form of recent stupidity.

_“Lip, we just got a call from Doc Roe. Apparently Smokey set part of his shirt on fire, then stumbled into a sewer grate and twisted his ankle when he tried to stop, drop, and roll. Me and Vera are heading out to see him. You want to come along, Sarge?”_

“I’ll be there in a second, Lena,” Carwood said. There was another muffled sound and then he was back. “Sorry, Ron, but I’ve got to—”

“Go handle one of your lost little puppies, I heard,” Ron said. “Take care of him and get some rest. We’ll see you Wednesday.”

“I’ll call you before then to confirm,” Carwood said. “See you soon.”

“Bye,” Ron said and waited just a little bit longer to hang-up as the dial tone filled his ear. 

This month was more for the B&B then anything having to do with busting the ring. They did have a lead on Sink’s original painting though. Ron was keeping his ear to the ground for any private dinners which were really just a cover for trades and sales. At the very least the Commissioner continued to be extremely understanding about the process, and the reality that they may never get his original paining back, but the recovery was a point of pride for both of them. Still, Ron knew he was getting distracted by the actual parts of life up here, losing himself just a bit to the cover and the story and his place in it. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t necessarily a man of indulgence. Perhaps his time up here could make up for all those vacations he never took.

**********

It was the night before Carwood was due to arrive for his stay and Babe Heffron had taken over the staff lounge with a banner-sized piece of paper and a stack full of recipe cards. Ron sat next to Chuck on the stairs as they both drank beer and listened to Babe debate the merits of apple crumble versus apple pie to himself.

“Boss?” Perco said from the top of the stairs. “There’s a guy here to see you. Says his name is George.”

“Luz?” Chuck asked. 

“Let’s hope so,” Ron said as he stood up. He passed his beer off to Perco and went out to the foyer where Luz stood. 

He was still in his suit jack and tie, rumpled from the long drive up from the city. He looked like he needed a vacation, he definitely needed a shave, and Ron wasn’t fooled for a second by the friendly smile on his face. Luz had that look in his eye that meant it was dangerous for anyone to try and cross him. 

“George,” he said as he held out his hand.

“Sparky,” Luz replied with a sharp grin as he took Ron’s hand. 

“I take it you’re not here to book a room,” Ron said as their handshake ended. He spared a look for Faye who had her earbuds in and was doing a decent enough job of pretending she wasn’t listening to their every word. “I’m going to guess this is about Lip.”

“Give the man a prize,” Luz said. He gave an impressively sarcastic round of applause. “You really must be one of New York’s finest.”

“Smartass,” Ron muttered as he gestured for Luz to follow him outside. 

“Less prying eyes and ears,” Luz said as his dress shoes clicked on the wooden deck.

“Something like that,” Ron said rather than explain Faye’s place here. The night was just starting to carry that bite of cold in the air. He rested against one of the porch’s beams while Luz crouched down to inspect one of the rocking chairs.

It was the new on Ron had just finished that morning.

“It’s a job,” Ron said in an effort to distract Luz from taking in all the details of that particular chair.

“Bullshit,” Luz said. He stood and turned to face Ron. “Don’t insult either one of us or Carwood with that crap. We both know that it isn’t just a job and never will be between you two. Do not break his heart, Speirs. I will get my whole fucking precinct up here if I have to; I will get Captain Winters to come up here and give you his _I Am So Disappointed_ stare; I will let Riggi and Keller come in here and verbally rip you to shreds.” Luz shook his head. “Jesus, Ron, you’ve got a chance for something great with that man. Don’t throw it away again.”

“I didn’t throw it away the first time,” Ron said. “It just wasn’t the right time.”

“Wasn’t the right time, right,” Luz said and shook his head. “No, you just left before you two made something of it all. You’re not a coward, Ron, we both know that you’ve faced shit that could kill a terminator. Don’t screw this up because you think he deserves better—and he does, we both know that—because he wants _you_. Carwood Lipton would be happy spending the rest of his years on his own, but he’d be a hell of a lot happier if some of those years were with you. And I think, if you could pull your head out of your ass for five seconds, you’d realize the same applies to you.”

Ron couldn’t even be mad at Luz and knew Carwood wouldn’t be either if he knew about Luz’s little detour upstate. It was rare to find such true, deep, friendship. He was going to be honest in his answers though, he respected Luz and he deserved the truth.

“Luz, look, it was never going to be _anybody_ , okay. I never, ever saw myself settling down with anyone, even when all my childhood friends started getting married and having kids, I’ve never wanted that—I still don’t. I can be a difficult, selfish bastard. I know that. I also need my solitude and independence. Few people understand that, even less when you start talking about a romantic and/or a sexual relationship. They see it as a failure in themselves or in me, but it’s not. It’s who I am.”

Luz tapped Ron’s shoulder with a small punch he barely felt. “You don’t think good old Carwood Lipton gets that?”

“I didn’t know if he would back then—I didn’t know if I would change my mind or my ways or if _he_ would in the coming years. It didn’t seem far or right to start something when we were already going on different career paths. It’s not a RomCom here, Luz---we’re real people. We both have jobs and obligations and back then neither one of us really knew how being on the force would change us.”

“So you just don’t want to be chained down—kidding!” Luz said as he held his hands up. “I get it, Speirs, and I’m honored you’re not just straight up bullshitting me. I just care about Lip a lot. He’s family.” He wandered back over to the rocking chair. “This is proof that you do love him though, in your own Speirs way. A handmade rocking chair that just happens to look like Nana Lip’s. You call down to Huntington to get the details just right?”

Ron didn’t bother to lie. Luz was just as good a detective as any of them and would see right through him. He let his silence be its own answer.

“I should get back to the city,” Luz said. “I suppose Lena’s going to be wanting her car back. Her husband gets shore leave this weekend. You’d like her. She doesn’t take anyone’s shit.”

“Sounds like all my favorite people.”

“Same here,” Luz said. 

He started down the porch and towards his car. “Don’t be a stranger, Ron. Come down to the city. The precinct wants to meet the man, the myth, the legend.”

“Good night, Luz,” Ron said.

Luz winked at him before he slid into his car. 

Ron waved him off as he pulled out of the drive. He stood on the porch and watched until Luz’s taillights disappeared into the night.

**********

When Ron picked up Carwood form the train station the first thing he noticed was the exhaustion. The second thing he noticed was the worn coat he knew Carwood had held on to from high school. The third thing he noticed, once they were in the car and Carwood had rolled up his sleeves, was the tattoo.

“When did you get that?” he asked, gesturing to the large black ace of spades tattoo on the inside of Carwood’s right arm.

“End of August was the anniversary of the day we lost Hoob,” he said. “Me and a couple of the kids in the precinct felt it was touching. He uh—he had a thing for poker. He always had an ace of spades somewhere on his person. He said it was his lucky card.”

“Doesn’t it represent death?” Ron asked.

“Hoobler was a unique kid,” Carwood said. He tapped two of his fingers against the tattoo. “We miss him.”

Ron reached a hand over and patted Carwood’s knee. There were some times when words were meaningless. He stayed quiet even as Carwood gripped Ron’s hand with his own. He stayed quiet even as he felt the warmth of the ring he’d designed under his skin on Carwood’s hand. He just stayed quiet until Carwood broke the not-uncomfortable silence.

“So, we have to buy you some scarecrows?”

“And pumpkins and ornamental gourds and a whole list of crap. We’re going to be booked solid this weekend so Heffron and Perco are insisting the house and property are done up right and I’ve already got a lecture from Kitty, her husband, and Mr. Grogan-Welsh’s first grade class.”

He spared a quick glance to see Carwood biting his lip and turning red with repressed laughter.

“Go ahead before you break something.”

Carwood’s whole body shook with laughter, but he still held on to Ron’s hand.

**********

“Heffron, come out here and helps us unload your shit,” Ron yelled through the open back door.

“We have customers, Speirs!” Perco yelled back.

“Heffron get your ass out here and help us unload your shirt, _please_ ,” Ron amended.

“Technically it’s the house’s shit,” Heffron said as he bounded down the back stairs. He grinned when he saw Carwood. “Hey, Lip. Good to see you again, man. Heard you’re with us for the long haul this time.”

“Through mid-October,” Carwood said. “How goes your recipe decisions?”

Heffron groaned as he started to pull bags of cinnamon-scented décor out of the back of Ron’s car. “I’m about to just pin them to the wall and pick whichever ones a dart hits. It’s turning out to be culinary hell,” he said. 

Ron shook his head as Heffron babbled on while Carwood followed after him. He got Carwood’s luggage out of the back, leaving the decorations for Heffron to sort out, and carried them inside the house up to his designated room. As he came back down the stairs he heard an audible gasp.

Ron grinned to himself as he caught sight of Carwood on the porch. He schooled his face into its usual indifferent mask as he slipped outside.

“Problem?” he asked.

Carwood turned to him with wide eyes. “ _How_ did you--- _when_ did you? Holy shit, Ron.”

“I’ve made everyone a replica of a piece of their home,” Ron said as he tried for a casual shrug. “It was time you had your own.”

“You’re a sneaky, marvelous bastard,” Carwood said as he pulled Ron into a hug.

“Thanks,” Ron murmured into the soft warmth of Carwood’s hair.

**********

Friday was orchard day, not that Ron could forget it with the reminder texts Heffron sent him every other hour yesterday. The house already smelled of coffee, bacon, and pancakes when he woke up at 5:30. The kitchen was already full of everyone gathered around the employee table.

“Do you think Faye and O’Keefe can really handle the desk and the store on their own?” Ramirez asked. “One of us should stay.”

“I volunteer,” Perco said.

Skinny laughed at him. “Afraid to get your hands dirty, Perco?”

“Hey, who is the one who has to get up on that roof and clean out the gutters? It sure as hell ain’t you, Skinny,” Perco said. He took a large bite of his pancakes to emphasize his point.

“If you really don’t want to go Perco, I’m not going to make you,” Ron said. “We’ll just each have to double up on the amount of apples we pick. That cool with everyone?”

Everyone nodded, mouths full of food, coffee, or both. 

“Okay, finish up here and make yourselves presentable enough for Mrs. Peters. Me and Chuck will transport people in our cars. Heffron, you get to be the apple cart.”

Heffron gave him a thumbs-up. 

“I’ll go dig out the baskets,” Ron said. He filled his travel mug up with coffee and grabbed a handful of bacon. “Make sure your phones are charged before we leave.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Chuck said with an added salute.

Ron slapped the back of Chuck’s head as he walked past. He exchanged a wink with Carwood and then slipped out to his workroom.


	5. Five

The sounds of Bruce Springsteen’s Greatest Hits filled the car as they drove to the orchard. The FBI kids were playing some kind of car game called Zitch Dog and Ron had only threatened to dump them all on the side of the road once. Their car held Skinny and Ramirez. Garcia was with Grant, and Babe was on his own leading the pack of cars through the winding roads of the countryside surrounding them. There was a light fog in the air and Carwood kept getting struck with surprising pangs of homesickness. It’d been a year since he’d been down to Huntington, he’d had longer gaps in between his visits, but something about his time up here really, deeply reminded me of all the good that was back home. 

Carwood watched as Ron unconsciously tapped the steering along to the rhythm of _Badlands_ playing through the speakers and took a moment to revel in the incongruity that was the man in the seat next to him. Supposed and actual proven hardened badass professional investigator who would definitely be playing the air-saxophone if it wasn’t for the FBI kids in the back. The man who could silence someone with just a look and designer of the wedding bands they both wore, a promise to himself, to Carwood, their pasts and a possible feature, etched out in forever-twining vines. The stoic police sergeant who could still quote every single line of _The Princess Bride_ and _The Fifth Element_ and who honestly believed _Die Hard_ counted as a proper Christmas movie. 

Carwood laughed to himself. He briefly met Ron’s eyes when he looked over to him and raised a single brow in inquiry. Carwood just shrugged and turned the volume up as _Dancing in the Dark_ started.

*********

The Peters Family Farm already had a small crowd of mid-week warriors gathered in its parking lot. There was a mouth-watering smell in the air and Carwood turned his head in an effort to find out where it was coming from.

“Apple cider donuts,” Ron said as he handed Carwood his very own apple basket. “I promise we’ll get some as soon as we greet Mrs. Peters.”

“So are the donuts the reason we drove past three perfectly fine orchards before stopping at this one?” Carwood asked. He’d wondered why they’d gone this far out on the drive, but no one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Carwood knew it was more than just donuts.

Ron gave him that improving look that meant he was more impressed than he wanted to show. 

“Maya, Mrs. Peters, is quite the observant lady. She always hires a couple of college kids each year to run their stand at the indoor farmer’s market and to help here when the crowds pick up for the harvest season. She noticed something going down between a new cashier and another kid who helps run one of the stalls at the markets. She’s a smart woman, and knew damn well none of us are _just_ who we seem. She didn’t know if it was a drug deal or something else, but it was enough to get her to pay closer attention.”

“One of your forgers?”

“We think so,” Ron said. He scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head in the direction of the store. 

Carwood turned his head enough just to catch a quick glimpse of a pale redhead. The kid didn’t look the manual labor type in the least.

“Got a name?” Carwood asked.

“We know he’s from Alabama, supposedly here to study the local birds. He’s quiet, keeps to himself, but he has a hell of an artistic talent. He’s the last one you’d ever suspect of committing any sort of criminal activity, so of course he’s perfect. We probably would’ve never noticed him if Mrs. Peters didn’t pick up on his interaction with Leyden, a known grifter.” 

“Does the kid have any idea?” Carwood asked.

“Probably some,” Ron admitted. “We still need to find more of the ring, but at least we have something.” His most charming grin suddenly appeared on his face. “Maya! Good morning.”

“Mrs. Peters has a crush on Ron,” Skinny said as he silently slipped beside Carwood. He held out a white paper bag. “Donut?” he offered.

“Thanks,” Carwood said as he took one and watched the elaborate greeting before him.

Maya Peters had a head full of white-gold curls, she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall if that, and wore a forest green apron over her clothes. She hugged Ron like he was one of her own, pulling him down to her height and patting him on the back.

“Prepare yourself,” Skinny said as he tugged Carwood’s basket from his hands. “We’ll be near the Granny Smith trees when you need us.”

Carwood didn’t know what he was supposed to be preparing himself for, but all the boys, including Babe and his actual legitimate apple cart, disappeared into the various designated orchards. 

“Is that the infamous Carwood Lipton?” Mrs. Peters asked in a voice that sounded far more Savannah than Schenectady. “Come here boy, let me have a look at you.”

Carwood knew there were certain inevitabilities in this life: death, taxes, and getting the air hugged out of him by a woman his mother’s age. He gladly accepted her embrace as if she was an old family friend.

“Aren’t you just so handsome,” she said as she patted his cheek. She pulled back and turned to Ron. “You must’ve done something very right in a past life Ronald, to get such a charming man.”

“Or Carwood did something very wrong,” Ron quipped.

“Oh, stop,” Mrs. Peters said. She held her hand out to Ron while she still kept a hold on Carwood with her other. “Come up to the house and have a snack. Fresh apple cider just made this morning. I’d like to get to know this Carwood better.”

They both obediently followed, stopping only when Mrs. Peters did to look out over her farm. 

“I’m not about to deny the beauty of that big city you both come from.” She took a deep breath and smiled as she gestured to the rows and rows of apple trees. “But I’ll take this view over those skyscrapers any day.”

*********

Carwood was ready for a nap after a long day outside, hauling apples from three different orchards for Babe’s recipes. They’d only gathered the McIntosh, Granny Smith, and Cortland varieties on this trip. Both Babe and Mrs. Peters implied there would be many more trips in the coming weeks. By the time they got home everyone was ready for a long shower and a longer nap, Carwood included.

Carwood should’ve expected the Mischief of Lewis Nixon to appear sooner rather than later.

“Friends of yours?” Faye asked as Ron and Carwood paused in the hall between the staff entrance to the kitchen and the foyer.

A very amused, possibly tipsy-Lewis Nixon stood at the check-in desk while Dick Winters flipped through the brochures.

“Did Luz set you up to this?” Ron asked.

“Please,” Nix said. “I made these reservations back in May. You’ve been booked solid for this weekend since June.”

“Have we?” he asked Faye.

“Yup,” Faye said. She handed Nix back his credit card and license. She then handed him a set of keys.

“That’s our honeymoon suite,” Ron said.

“That’s what he requested,” Faye said. She pulled up the reservation on the computer screen and showed them. “O’Keefe had to go two counties over to get the whiskey they wanted in place of our standard champagne. And then Ramirez had to go out there because the cashier refused to believe O’Keefe is twenty-one.”

“The honeymoon suite,” Ron repeated.

Nix wrapped an arm around Winters’ waist and grinned. “So, about those advertised hay rides,” he said. 

“Too early in the season, Nix,” Winters said. 

Nix frowned. “Well, I’m sure one of the charming gentlemen who help run this place can find some other way to entertain us for the weekend.”

Carwood really hoped someone had restocked the medicine cabinet for Ron’s inevitable developing headache.

**********

Babe frowned at the breakfast ticket Skinny had slapped down in front of him.

“Everything okay?” Carwood asked as he looked up from his bowl of granola. 

“The one guy wants like a four course breakfast and the other just wants fruit, oatmeal, and toast.”

“Opposites attract I suppose,” Carwood said as Ron loudly crunched down on a piece of crispy bacon. 

“So these are like, your bosses?” Babe asked as he started cracking eggs into a sizzling frying pan. “How long have they been together?”

“No one’s really sure if they even _are_ ,” Carwood said. “They’re just Nix and Winters. You always find one with the other. I know Nix used to be married once.”

“Hell of a divorce,” Ron mumbled into his coffee. “I had to go steal his dog back.”

Carwood almost spit out his orange juice. “That was _you_?”

Ron shrugged like pet thievery was a normal part of their job. “Nix asked.”

“Jesus,” Babe said as he shook his head. 

They all looked up as the kitchen door swung open and Winters and Nix both appeared.

“They insisted,” Skinny said.

Ron waved him off. “Don’t worry, Sisk. The only person in this universe capable of reining in Lewis Nixon is standing right next to him. What’s the matter, boys? Don’t like eating with the general public?”

“The conversation was lacking,” Nix admitted as he slid in a seat next to Ron. Winters quietly took his own next to Carwood. “Besides, Lip’s kids were worried and demanding photographic proof that he’s alright.” He held up his phone. “Smile, Lip.”

Carwood did and thanked whatever merciful gods were watching over him that had Nix turn his flash off. He turned his own attention to Winters.

“So, Captain, if you’re here, who exactly is running the precinct?”

“Martin’s got it for the weekend,” Winters said with that unshakeable certainty that always calmed something in Carwood. “I’ve asked Holt from the 9-9 to check in on them when he has the chance. They all respect Martin though, and he respects them, so I don’t foresee any problems.”

“And you’re really here because you knew Sink was wondering why it’s taking so long? Or because someone up the chain wants more justification for the joint taskforce?” Ron asked.

“Nix really did book this weekend all on his own,” Winters said as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. “It just so happened that yes, the request from on-high about further justification arrived across his desk at the same time. Sink is well aware these jobs take years at the least and decades at the most. It’s just a matter of getting that through the heads of the people who are more politicians than investigators.”

“Corporate jackasses,” Nix clarified. His face lit up when Babe put a fresh omelet down in front of him. “Hell of a service you’ve got going here.”

“The _breakfast_ part of the B &B is kind of one of our required specialties,” Babe said. 

Skinny slipped back into the kitchen. “Dining room’s empty. Finally,” he said. He grabbed a piece of bacon off one of the trays. “I hate working the dining room.”

“You can always go work the store with Ramirez,” Ron said.

“Dining room’s not so bad,” Skinny said. “At least I can catch some gossip.”

“So Babe,” Carwood said before Nix could ask about any of the gossip. “How goes the apple haul?”

“Not all the apples survived, but whatever. That’s to be expected in transport,” Babe said. “I’ll start the pie and the crumble this afternoon.”

“So where are the rotten ones?” Skinny asked.

Carwood didn’t know if he liked the look in Skinny’s eyes. 

“They’re piled up in that basket,” Babe said with a wave to a basket on a far counter. “I’m sure I can use some of them still, at least parts of then. The really bad ones are near the back door. I got to do some research—see if I can use them for compost or something.”

“Oh, I’ll take care of them for you,” Skinny volunteered. 

Babe looked so thankful that Carwood didn’t have the heart to tell him he was so clearly being played. 

“Thanks, Skinny. I didn’t know when I’d find the time. We got a full house from here ‘til Thanksgiving.”

“I’ve got your back, Babe,” Skinny said as he patted Babe’s shoulder.

Two hours later when Carwood heard _Apple Fight_ bellowed from the backyard, he really shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“I guess that’s a more creative way to make apple sauce,” Winters said.

“I think we should try and get Lip some hazard pay,” Nix said as he dodged a flying McIntosh.

“Oh shit,” Garcia said as a Cortland landed right on the door to Ron’s wood shed.

Ron yanked the door open, safety googles covering his eyes and sawdust sticking to the sweaty parts of his shirt. Carwood thought he did a good enough job of maintaining a steady, stoic face in response to Ron easily catching the apple Chuck lobbed at him and hitting the trash can near the front porch with perfect aim.

“Still nothing to meddle with?” Winters asked as he nudged Carwood’s side. “Nothing at all?”

“Now, now, Dick, no one likes a smug bastard,” Nix said with a smug bastard smile on his lips.

“Do that again and the next thing to go into that can is one of you,” Ron warned. “And I’m not taking anyone to the hospital when one of you idiots knock out a tooth or break a jaw.”

“So it’s clear which one of you is the hardass-parent,” Nix said.

“Nix,” Winters warned.

Nix just shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

***********

Carwood returned to his precinct halfway through October. He promised to head back to the B&B for Halloween weekend, even if he had to bribe someone else to fill in while he was gone. Martin would be on vacation that week and besides, he tried to make sure the people who had kids at least had one shift off around that time to celebrate with their kids.

“Randleman might be a good option,” Luz said as he looked at the short-list of possible options. “You’d think with all the red tape they’d have permanent floating sergeants to take care of these problems.”

“This isn’t exactly a normal situation,” Carwood said. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Captain Winters says we should be fine without a sergeant for a single weekend, but it’s Halloween.”

“Yeah,” Luz agreed. “Still, you gotta go up there, Lip—for you. Not for the job, because this isn’t really about the job anymore, is it?”

“Not this time at least,” Carwood agreed. He smiled at Luz, knew he could let himself show how tired he was and not fear some rumors spreading about his ability to do his job. “I wish you could spend some time up there. You’d like the whole of them.”

“Perfectly happy right where I am,” Luz said. “Not that I don’t like meeting new people, I just know if you and me are gone Vera and Lena will take over and we’ll never get our jobs back.”

Carwood laughed in agreement. “The paperwork might scare them away though.” He tapped the latest assessment that had just landed on his desk. “Alley will be ready to go in the field again as soon as Winters signs off on it. I’m just going to hold on to the file for another week so he can rest that ankle more. Don’t let him go snooping around and find it.”

“Scout’s honor,” Luz said with a hand over his heart. “Bring me back a candied apple?”

Carwood groaned at the very thought of more apples.

**********

A whole section of the backyard looked like liked something out of a Norman Rockwell-esque Halloween painting. It was far more harvest-themed instead of scary and there were at least fifty pumpkins on the stairs, the hay bales, and in a display of craved jack-o-lanterns. And of course there was a whole section to bob for apples.

The gift shop’s doors were wide open. Carwood waved to Ramirez who was setting up a whole table for charitable donations. Entry to the tiny fun-fair was free, but they were asking people to donate canned goods for the food bank. 

“Hey, Lip,” Ramirez said. “Decent drive?”

“Not too bad,” Carwood said. “Shop been busy?”

“Steady,” Ramirez said. “A lot of people have stopped by to ask about the fun-fair and well, I’m a good salesman.” He gestured to the house. “Ron’s up in his room. He got a call earlier and has been up there planning the invasion of Normandy or some shit. Go calm him down for us, yeah?”

“I guess I’ll take this one for the team,” Carwood said. 

He was halfway up the stairs when Faye slapped a post-in on his back. “You got a message from some guy called Skip. He said to let you know your love nest is found out and he expects pictures.” She made a face. “What kind of name is Skip?”

“It’s really Warren,” Carwood said.

Faye wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, Skip’s better. Ron’s upstairs grumbling about college football players or something.”

“Got it,” Carwood said as he continued up the stairs. 

He knocked on Ron’s door even though it was already ajar and pushed it opened when he heard Ron’s grunt of acceptance. 

Ron wasn’t frazzled or hurt or angry, he just looked severely annoyed. He paced the room with his phone glued to his ear.

“Yes, Mother, I know the Haldanes are perfectly respectable people and good neighbors, but there is a very good possibility their golden boy son is still dealing in illegal goods. Because _no one_ would expect it of him. No one looks twice at the well-dressed white man. Because we live in a world full of wealthy white male privilege, Mother. I am not insulting your father, I’m stating a fact.” 

Carwood dropped his bag and coat on the armchair. He walked over to Ron and placed his hands on his shoulders until Ron finally took a deep breath and smiled.

“Mom, just—please. Keep your eyes open and let me know if anyone invites you to a private sale, especially if it includes watercolors. Mother, if someone is trying to sell you a Monet at a private auction get out of there before someone gets shot because no smart criminal would try to sell a piece that hot at a semi-public auction. If they do it’s a scheme. No, Sotheby’s is not a scheme those are legitimate. Well, no, I can’t know that for sure, you’re right. Mother—I’ve got to go. Yes, I’ll come down for Thanksgiving. Oyster stuffing, yes, of course. Love you too.”

Ron turned and rested his forehead against Carwood’s own. “Thank you,” he said.

“So, you found the ringleader?”

“One of them, maybe,” Ron said. “Chuck just came back from Maryland with a whole box of transcripted chatter a friend of his worked on. I recognized the name and figured it’s worth a look. As far as I can tell the contact line goes from Maine all the way to Texas. If we could get one of them—hell, I’ll just count the recovery of Sink’s real painting as a victory.”

“Getting a name—a real name, not an alias—is a major victory,” Carwood said. 

Ron smiled, tired and brittle, and stepped back. “You’re right. I’ve just—yeah, you’re right.”

“What is it?”

Ron shrugged. “The FBI’s been talking about hiring me solely to take on the running of this place. Apparently I’m very good at turning a profit with this team. They’ve made the same offers to Chuck and Perco. It makes sense to take them, but then I have to finally admit this is no longer _just_ a cover and actually my life now.”

“Would you really miss the city that much?” Carwood asked. 

“Parts of it,” Ron said as he met Carwood’s eyes with a steady gaze. “There are definitely some things I wanted to see more of.”

“Well,” Carwood said, allowing himself to crowd into Ron’s space. “The good thing about the city is that it’s always open. Plenty of time to see more if you’re willing.”

“Yeah?” Ron asked. He cupped Carwood’s cheek. “Still?”

“Still,” Carwood said. 

“You sure?” Ron asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Positive,” Carwood promised. 

“That’s great to hear,” Ron said as he leaned down and let his lips brush Carwood’s own.

He tasted like apples.

**********

Thanksgiving was a week away and the precinct was full of chatter about family plans and who got to work what shift and when. They’d have a skeleton crew mostly of new recruits for the holiday, but Carwood usually tried to duck in at least once to check on things. This year was different. His presence was already demanded at the B&B, Mrs. Peters’ farm, and Popeye’s house.

Carwood was just trying to finish up a whole pile of case reviews when his phone rang, a picture of a barefoot Ron sprawled out in Carwood’s rocking chair popping up on the display. 

He and Ron had taken to switching off weekends of coming down to the city or going up to the B&B. It didn’t always work out, and they were still working everything else out between them, but he’d just talked to Ron an hour ago about coming down, so he really hoped they didn’t have to cancel already.

“We might’ve found Sink’s painting,” Ron said, forgoing a greeting to get straight to the point. His voice sounded tinny but excited through the phone.

“Yeah?” Carwood asked as he put down the case file in his hands.

“Private auction in Boston first weekend of December. My mother got an invite. Want to be my plus plus one?”

“I guess I’ll have to dust off my tux,” Carwood said.

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to Kay & Nat who forever remain the most supportive.
> 
> And yes, there will be a sequel some day about just how they get Sink's painting back. :D
> 
> And because I was serious about wanting to write all three of the amazing prompts provided, here's a sneak peek of prompt number one, which was for _Magical realism AU in which werewolves, sorcerers, elves etc. are common and nonmagical humans are rare and secretive beings: who in Easy Company is plain human is up to the writer._ :
> 
> There were all types of people living in the corners of the mountains and hollers of West Virginia, some were wolves, others big black dogs, some did magic with the earth and air and others with blood, some were said to be as old as Methuselah, but all were special in their own right. Carwood Lipton was rare, not because he was one of those extra special types of folks, but because he was nothing but Carwood. His mama and daddy never loved him any less for it, even as they kissed his forehead before slipping out into the night taking on the shapes of bears or deer or whatever took their fancy. They loved their boy even if he was never to be the magical sort. There was danger in being who he was and what he was not, though, and his parents used all they had to keep them safe.
> 
> No one bothered them much as deep in the woods as they were, no one came by and they were able to stay to their quiet lives until the first war came.


End file.
